


Morning Dysphoria

by shiverfawkes



Series: Trans!John Watson [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dysphoria, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Gender Dysphoria, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sherlock Holmes Has a Heart, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Trans John Watson, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:54:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiverfawkes/pseuds/shiverfawkes
Summary: He felt ugly when he thought about it. He felt even worse when he looked at it. God knows how he would feel to have Sherlock look at it.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Trans!John Watson [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1417693
Comments: 10
Kudos: 184





	Morning Dysphoria

**Author's Note:**

> tw chest dysphoria 
> 
> i havent written anything in ages im so sorry

Sherlock Holmes wasn’t the type of person you’d expect to be cuddly. He was sharp in every place imaginable, face, shoulders, elbows, personality, cunning and wit.

So, when they started what was apparently more than a friendship, given the kisses and the sex, John Watson didn’t really expect Sherlock to nestle into him when he was reading a book. He was surprised, but not repelled, so he moved his arm for Sherlock’s own to wrap around his torso and got on with reading his book.

That was the first time.

Then they got a case and there was no time to relax, eat, think or anything else they enjoyed (namely blowjobs, Sherlock had deleted those and by god was he glad to regain them) so the idea slowly drifted back into John’s mind.

That wasn’t until the case ended and he woke up with Sherlock clinging to him like his body warmth was a life source. He lay on his stomach, face buried in his pillow in such a way that John couldn’t fathom how he managed to breathe, his naked torso pressed against John’s own through his t-shirt and he was breathing slowly, content.

This was the second time Sherlock had actively embraced him in this way. Any other time they’d shared a bed to sleep in, nothing really happened afterwards, and Sherlock was awake and away before John was.

John didn’t take issue with the fact itself. In fact, it was quite pleasant to wake up with somebody beside him. Especially somebody he knew was not just another fling. It was comfortable.

So, the close proximity of the lanky genius wasn’t the problem. It was just that Sherlock’s arm was in a precarious position. John’s chest was a no-go area, for multiple reasons.

The main one was just that he felt ugly when he thought about it. He felt even worse when he looked at it. God knows how he would feel to have Sherlock look at it.

The person he held in the highest regard, seeing him, that was a vulnerability he wasn’t prepared to unlock. 

His scar, his chest in general, those two awkward bumps that distorted his figure into something he couldn’t bear. Yet Sherlock Holmes, the _epitome_ of good and healthy habits, refused to let him wear his binder to bed, in any circumstance.

“Sorry.” Sherlock murmured from his pillow, shifting his arm lower, across Johns stomach rather than resting under his chest. His voice was even deeper in the mornings, after he just woke up, it was a luxury to hear it considering the consultant never slept.

John turned his head, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s mess of rich brown curls. “’S not your fault.” He murmured.

“You’re uncomfortable” Sherlock pointed out and turned his head, lifting it up to rest on John’s shoulder, but John didn’t want to look at him.

“Yeah.” He breathed his reply.

Sherlock made a conscious effort to pull John’s arm from behind his head and place it in his own hair. John rolled his eyes but ran his hand through the curls anyway. For a man who refused to eat for fear of wasting time, his hair was impeccably soft, somehow. “You’ve never considered surgery?” He asked.

“Sherlock.” John laughed. “Do you know who you’re talking to? I’m not exactly made of money, never have been.”

Sherlock gave a low hum, almost a purr, either in thought or because John moved his fingers through his hair in a way he especially enjoyed. “We’ll start saving then.” He replied after a moment.

“We?”

“Yes, _we_ , John, you know I hate repeating myself.”

John didn’t know how to reply. His head was spinning, and he knew Sherlock knew it. How _could_ he respond? Sherlock obviously knew how big of a deal this was to John, the idea of not having to be permanently uncomfortable with himself. He could have cried, or vomited, or both. Neither of those would be the most flattering thing to do in his bed, with his lover. So, he pushed himself up, much to Sherlock’s annoyance, as expressed by an annoyed grumble. “Do you want a cup of tea?” He asked, before Sherlock could verbalise his complaint.

Sherlock smiled at him. “I’d love one.”


End file.
